into the east now, and Johnis turned his horse to confront the broad length of shadow, moon at his back.
“Patience, Priest,” Marak snapped. His irises were enormous, or his pupils had shrunk strangely.
“I think we’ve shown more than enough patience for the time being, General.”
“How far until we turn west?” Marak demanded. His mood had gone from irritable to completely foul. Now he seemed to struggle with something, but Johnis couldn’t pinpoint it.
The siren song distracted him. Shaeda’s mind was open to Johnis once more. She gave him instruction as they traveled. The further they went, the more he saw through multicolored Leedhan eyes.
“Not much farther. Another hour or so, I think.”
Marak humphed his answer. “We’ll need to make camp, then.”
“Camp?”
“You didn’t expect to ride through the night, did you?”
“It’s a long way. I thought you were all in a hurry.”
Shaeda’s song spurred him along. She was fantasizing as much as she was planning their next move, seeing farther ahead than anyone could have realized.
These miserable fools made of clay had no idea what was coming for them.
Marak had been taking stock of the area. Shaeda’s gaze lingered on the general for a long moment. Johnis could make nothing of her assessment. Her thoughts were growing more guarded, more cautious.
“Here’s as good a place as any,” Marak said.
“Continue on . . .”
“We should continue,” Shaeda said. Johnis said.
“There is nothing.” Johnis said, his voice hard and clipped. “Not until we reach the canyon. We should keep going.”
Marak dismounted. “Ten minutes.” Silvie refused Sucrow’s assistance down and nearly fell off the horse, trying to dismount.
Silvie had refused to look at Johnis as she was forced into a cage. Johnis considered how to rescue her while Marak, the officers, and Sucrow went to discuss whatever it was that Marak wanted to discuss.
Silvie . . .
Shaeda clamped down, her rival now out of the way.
Johnis stumbled off his horse and sank to the ground, elbows on his knees. He rubbed his temples. Against Shaeda’s wishes, the caravan had stopped.
“We must not linger, my pet. ” Her claws cut into him.
“I can’t control him,” he protested under his breath. “I can’t. There’s no telling the blasted general what to do. Patience, please.”
He was punished every time someone else slowed her down. Shaeda’s invisible grip tightened.
“Let me go,” he whispered. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t think.
She was crushing him, squeezing the life out of him. Her will, her mind, her heart, her thoughts—her loves and hates—all his. And his were hers. Silvie . . .
Shaeda suddenly relented. She chuckled. You are correct, my pet, my little human . . . Leave such obstacles to me.
Johnis struggled for air. He opened his eyes and sat up. Brushed dust off his arms.
“Johnis?”
Johnis’s head shot up. Darsal stood beneath a desert tree, an overgrown piece of white bark and shriveled branches that thrived with cacti growing from it. He tensed. Darsal came closer. He could smell her raw, pungent skin even through the citrusy fragrance she was wearing. He curled his lip and showed her his back.
“What should we do?” he whispered. He watched the others, waiting for Shaeda’s insight to overtake him.
“Elyon, Johnis.”
Shaeda bared their teeth and growled. “Elyon abandoned us, wench!” He spun, close enough to smell her sickly sweet breath.
And then he saw Marak wasn’t making camp. Instead he was preparing to speak with his officers and Sucrow. If he could get to Silvie . . .
“Patience, Johnis. She shall be returned. But she is needed to convince the albino to stand down.”
What do you mean? It was Darsal, after all . . .
And then, for the moment, Shaeda was gone. At least, he didn’t sense her. That could change.
“Why don’t you focus on killing Sucrow, not the Circle?”
“Sucrow.” The name drew bile from deep
“Patience, Priest,” Marak snapped. His irises were enormous, or his pupils had shrunk strangely.
“I think we’ve shown more than enough patience for the time being, General.”
“How far until we turn west?” Marak demanded. His mood had gone from irritable to completely foul. Now he seemed to struggle with something, but Johnis couldn’t pinpoint it.
The siren song distracted him. Shaeda’s mind was open to Johnis once more. She gave him instruction as they traveled. The further they went, the more he saw through multicolored Leedhan eyes.
“Not much farther. Another hour or so, I think.”
Marak humphed his answer. “We’ll need to make camp, then.”
“Camp?”
“You didn’t expect to ride through the night, did you?”
“It’s a long way. I thought you were all in a hurry.”
Shaeda’s song spurred him along. She was fantasizing as much as she was planning their next move, seeing farther ahead than anyone could have realized.
These miserable fools made of clay had no idea what was coming for them.
Marak had been taking stock of the area. Shaeda’s gaze lingered on the general for a long moment. Johnis could make nothing of her assessment. Her thoughts were growing more guarded, more cautious.
“Here’s as good a place as any,” Marak said.
“Continue on . . .”
“We should continue,” Shaeda said. Johnis said.
“There is nothing.” Johnis said, his voice hard and clipped. “Not until we reach the canyon. We should keep going.”
Marak dismounted. “Ten minutes.” Silvie refused Sucrow’s assistance down and nearly fell off the horse, trying to dismount.
Silvie had refused to look at Johnis as she was forced into a cage. Johnis considered how to rescue her while Marak, the officers, and Sucrow went to discuss whatever it was that Marak wanted to discuss.
Silvie . . .
Shaeda clamped down, her rival now out of the way.
Johnis stumbled off his horse and sank to the ground, elbows on his knees. He rubbed his temples. Against Shaeda’s wishes, the caravan had stopped.
“We must not linger, my pet. ” Her claws cut into him.
“I can’t control him,” he protested under his breath. “I can’t. There’s no telling the blasted general what to do. Patience, please.”
He was punished every time someone else slowed her down. Shaeda’s invisible grip tightened.
“Let me go,” he whispered. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t think.
She was crushing him, squeezing the life out of him. Her will, her mind, her heart, her thoughts—her loves and hates—all his. And his were hers. Silvie . . .
Shaeda suddenly relented. She chuckled. You are correct, my pet, my little human . . . Leave such obstacles to me.
Johnis struggled for air. He opened his eyes and sat up. Brushed dust off his arms.
“Johnis?”
Johnis’s head shot up. Darsal stood beneath a desert tree, an overgrown piece of white bark and shriveled branches that thrived with cacti growing from it. He tensed. Darsal came closer. He could smell her raw, pungent skin even through the citrusy fragrance she was wearing. He curled his lip and showed her his back.
“What should we do?” he whispered. He watched the others, waiting for Shaeda’s insight to overtake him.
“Elyon, Johnis.”
Shaeda bared their teeth and growled. “Elyon abandoned us, wench!” He spun, close enough to smell her sickly sweet breath.
And then he saw Marak wasn’t making camp. Instead he was preparing to speak with his officers and Sucrow. If he could get to Silvie . . .
“Patience, Johnis. She shall be returned. But she is needed to convince the albino to stand down.”
What do you mean? It was Darsal, after all . . .
And then, for the moment, Shaeda was gone. At least, he didn’t sense her. That could change.
“Why don’t you focus on killing Sucrow, not the Circle?”
“Sucrow.” The name drew bile from deep
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